Casts, Slings and Crutches
by si-star-x
Summary: We were talking about how much we love casts, slings and crutches, so I tossed them all together and wrote a fic. Dean has a broken arm and leg, and this fic entails Sam half-carrying him from the car to their motel room.


Crutches are Devil spawn, and Dean has been known to go as far as scratching a pentagram into the aluminium to protect himself from their wraith. They are an adversary, and the use of them is a case all in itself.

He loathes the way they chafe his armpits when he's too lazy to use them correctly, and he hates the way limping on one leg does whichever knee is left no fucking good at all.

It kills him to be so reliant. He's reliant on Sam, sure, but Sam has something to offer in return. Crutches just suck, and Dean has made an internal pact with himself to do anything in his power to keep them out of his life.

He manages to play off his sprained ankle in Arizona, taping his ankle so tightly that he has to bite down on his lip to yank the boot on. By the time they get home that night he's gasping in pain as his toes slowly purple and acknowledges that perhaps he should have taken the day off.

The trouble really comes if a leg is so screwed to hell that any pressure causes stars to cascade into his vision and it takes five minutes to ride out the wave of agony. When he has to bite down and squeeze his eyes shut to keep tears at bay, he has to give in.

"Dean, c'mon." Sam groans as he feels his brother pull back some of his weight. "You're going to end up on your ass if you don't just let me do this."

To a bystander, the scene may have been considered comical. It had taken ten minutes for Dean to gather enough courage to just stand upright, and now, after moving from the safety of his car, Sam has a strong arm wrapped around his torso to hold him above the ground. A broken arm on the left side renders crutches impossible – bent in position and covered fingers to elbow in a stark white fibreglass cast. On the same left side, blue hospital scrubs unattractively cover a very similar cast, the leg fully encased from toes to thigh.

"S'ok, Sam." Dean shakes his head, still insistently jerking back from the supportive arm around his back.

"It's not OK, man." Sam tightens his hold on the rough jacket Dean is wearing, and pulls heavily so that Dean's weight settles on him once again. "We're not getting anywhere."

Dean's eyebrows furrow as the sharp movement causes a spark of pain from both of his injured limbs. "Fuck."

Sam hears his brother's complaint and inwardly feels guilty, but Jesus – they are barely halfway between the Impala and the motel room and Dean's already looking as though he could pass out any minute. Dean's good leg is buckling under the strain, regardless of the pressure Sam forces upon himself, and he's resistant to tighten the hold further because even this level of support is probably jarring the broken arm and leg to hell.

"You are so stubborn, Dean." Sam grunts as he takes small steps to match Dean's hopping gait, a method of moving that is the only way forward considering they had no wheelchair.

Dean grits his teeth and ignores the comment. He's quickly realising that in this awkward situation with arm and leg on the left side out of commission, the luxury of crutches would be welcomed. He can't have Sam hauling his ass around for the imminent future, and if anybody even mentions the 'w' word again…

"We should have just picked up that wheelchair."

"No." Dean grumbles, knowing that if his good arm were free he would have been balling his fist in preparation for a shot. As it was, he just took a breath to hone in his anger and focused on moving forward.

The pain overwhelmed and encompassed, and with each movement the throb intensified and turned into a burn and an occasional flash of lightning. The breaks are still too new and fresh and raw to be jarred like this. The Doctor had even stated that he would have liked to see him for another two days, but with their shitty, tenuous medical insurance, both guys were itching to leave regardless of the consequences. Dean was happy to be self-discharging into a motel room, but this was just taking it out of him. He just wants to be lying down with his next dose of painkillers and his broken leg elevated to dull the incessant throb.

Sam senses that his brother is wavering and knows that if he does pass out it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to haul Dean to the motel as a dead-weight. He makes a conscious decision to speed up his pace and knows that Dean is struggling to keep up.

"Sam," Dean pipes up, trying to speed up his tiny bounces but failing miserably as the vibrations just make him hurt. "Slow down, will ya?"

He feels guilty as hell, but Sam doesn't slow his pace. He feels the resistance from Dean's good leg as the assisted journey turns into being dragged across the parking lot. He knows the too-broken leg and arm would be waging war inside the fibreglass casts from being abused, but there was no other option.

Sam's features are laced with apology as they finally make it to the door. He fumbles with his free hand to swipe the key, and then pushes them both into the room. It's crappy, as usual, just two single beds with a tiny television in one corner and a door with a dent in the bottom leading to the bathroom. He purposely steers Dean towards the bed nearest the bathroom door and tries to keep hold of his swaying brother as he tugs back the blanket on the bed and rolls it to one side.

"Do you want to…?" Sam motions to the bathroom door, "Just before you get comfortable, I mean."

"'M fine." Dean nods tightly, anxious to settle down against the pillows and for the pain to subside.

Sam's huge hands are kept close as Dean awkwardly positions himself on the edge of the bed, arm strapped in a sling and left leg bent slightly at the knee to keep the long cast from touching the floor.

He scoots back, twists uncomfortably as his good leg is pulled up onto the mattress. Without confirmation, Sam takes initiative and reaches down to carefully guide Dean's casted leg onto the mattress to join the other. He then moves to his back, pulling up the pillows and positioning them in the hollow of his spine.

Sam watches with concern as Dean's good hand comes to rest protectively across the elbow of the cast. His face is pale, clammy, and his eyes are squeezed shut, all physical signs of the unrelenting pain. Settling in one position has caused a dizzy sensation and Dean attempts to calm it by breathing slowly and precisely. Tearing his eyes away, Sam reaches for the two pillows on his own bed and tosses them next to the cast.

"You keep them." Dean cracks open an eye, "I was just gonna use my duffle." His voice is low, hoarse, yet another way for the pain to leak into his being.

Sam shakes his head in response and continues to fluff the pillows up. "You can use the duffle when we're on the road, Dean, but when there's the option of fluffy white pillows you definitely take it."

"Thanks." Dean nods once; keeps his eyes closed as Sam gingerly lifts the cast again, to position both of the pillows underneath the knee.

"That OK?" Sam enquires, pleased that his careful shifting hadn't seemed to cause Dean any further discomfort.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean nods again, eyes still closed. "Mind getting my meds?"

It was pure luck that the pharmacy had still been open for the prescription to be filled; five minutes later and Dean would have had a very rough night. Sam needed to head back to the car anyway to grab their bags and he made use of his long legs, jogging to the Impala and slinging both bags over one shoulder. He snagged Dean's half-eaten packet of M&M's from the glove compartment, figured that they wouldn't be getting food tonight.

"Thanks." Dean spoke as the door moved, before Sam even came into view. "Hurts like a bitch."

"I can imagine." Sam chuckled, crossing the room and rummaging through the paper bag. "Which do you want?"

"The strongest." Dean pulls up his lips in an attempted smirk that doesn't quite happen. "I don't know. Pump me up, Doctor Sexy."

"Did you just call me 'sexy', Dean?"

"I'll call you anything if it means some relief. Stop yappin' and give me the pills."

Sam smiles, grateful that his brother still has his charming personality amidst the shards of broken bone and waves of agony.

It's going to be a long couple of months, they both know that, but for tonight Sam is glad that his brother is out of the hospital and back within his comfort zone. Those casts are going to be a pain in the ass, he knows well enough from his own injuries, but any hurdles will be crossed when they come.

Like bathing. That'll be an interesting one.


End file.
